The Collector
by HousethatJackBuilt
Summary: A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review! COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review! Will add more chapters if people like the first. No warnings for first chapter but rating will get higher for language/violence in later chapters.

**Authors note:** This is my first fanfic ever so please review, constructive criticism is always welcomed :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned House)

**Chapter One**

"Okay, the Sergeant will be clear for landing in one or two days. You mightn't want to take a leak before he makes his descent seeing as he'll have to cope with the fact that he's coming out of your rear along with all of your waste. Make sure that he's got a clean toilet bowl before he comes out; give him a bit of dignity hmm?"

Dr Gregory House sighed as he looked at the x-ray of his patient's stomach. What kind of fully grown man swallows a toy soldier? Well what else could be expected from clinic duty? Thankfully it was almost time to go home. Well, the time to go home was 5:00pm and it was only 4:30 but he was sure he could check out without Cuddy noticing. He would just walk without his cane and she wouldn't even recognize him. Maybe he should wear sunglasses too, or would that look too obvious that he's trying to disguise himself? He turned to his patient, "If the toy is still in enemy territory by tomorrow, come back to the clinic. And next time you want to swallow a toy, try and swallow one of a naked chick. It will be much more interesting to look at on the x-ray." House then exited the exam room swiftly, glad to be out of there.

As House was making his quick escape he almost collided with Wilson on the way out, "Hey! You in a hurry to be somewhere House?" Wilson asked.

"Sshh! You must never use my real name in hearing range of the enemy," House said with a swift look towards Cuddy's office.

"Oh right, ducking out early again as per usual. I assume you still haven't had a case?"

"Nope, this is the second week without one now. So it's more clinic duty for me. Quick question for you Jimmy: Hanging, razor blade or overdose?"

"Well you seem to be halfway there with the overdose," quipped Wilson as House popped another Vicodin.

"Hey I have feelings you know," said House feigning being hurt by that remark. "Why can't somebody get terminally ill? I need to be amused."

"Right, how inconsiderate of them," Wilson muttered sarcastically.

"House! Don't even think about checking out, you still have 25 minutes left until your shift ends," said Lisa Cuddy as she stormed out of her office over to House and Wilson.

"Oops, seems like my hand _accidentally_ slipped and I _accidentally_ checked out," exclaimed House holding up his hands in an apologetic gesture as if the damage has been done and there was nothing he can do.

"Right, and there's me thinking that I'm _your_ boss and I tell _you_ what to do. And what's even weirder is that you actually do it. Back to the clinic now."

House watched Cuddy walk away and couldn't help but noticing that she looks quite cute in that skirt she's wearing today. He looked at Wilson's amused expression, "She totally wants me. You get off at 5:00 today?"

"Yes. Unlike you I actually have to do the full shift."

"Okay well I'll see you here at 5:00 then. I'm going the same way as you, strange that we're parked in the same lot eh?"

Wilson walked away with a roll of the eyes and a nod of the head and House limped back to the clinic.

* * *

_He sat alone in the dark watching and waiting patiently. His face completely covered in shadows except from when he took a drag of his cigarette which illuminated his eyes, the burning ash making them appear quite red in the gloom. The only sound that could be heard was his even breaths and his exhale of smoke. He looked out at the dim parking lot, the numerous cars headlights reflecting the glow of the Hospital making the cars look as if they had white, lifeless eyes. They looked as if they were watching him, as if they all knew what he was waiting for and what he was planning to do. But they didn't know. Nobody knew except him. _

_And that's when he saw them walking at a leisurely pace towards their vehicles. Dr House and his friend who he'd seen him with on more than one occasion. His body tensed and he focused his eyes on the two doctors. They were so different in the way they looked and moved. House's friend was strongly built and broad shouldered and walked with a certainty about him as if he always knew exactly where he was going, but keeping in time with House's pace all the while. House of course walked slower than his friend, his leg hindering him and his cane aiding him. He always knew where he was going too but took a shortcut every once in a while to get there. He was thinner than his friend but his unkempt hair and the stubble on his face combined well with his thin frame. Both doctors body language was the same though, it was easy to spot from a mile off that they were good friends. _

_He had to have these two doctors in his collection, how wonderful it will be to hear them scream. He must first start at the bottom however and work his way up. Save the best until last and the game will be much more fun. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:** A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review!

**Authors note:** Thanks for the reviews on my first chapter, I love reading them. Please keep them coming, they make me smile a lot :) Second chapter here, rating is still the same as the first chapter. No warnings.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)

**Chapter 2**

House arrived at the conference room the next morning half an hour late. Foreman had beeped him an hour earlier telling him they didn't have a case again, so House couldn't stop sleep consuming him for an extra half an hour. Half an hour in bed, half an hour out of clinic duty, a win-win situation really.

House limped into the conference room and headed straight to the coffee. Cameron looked worriedly at House. "You're never normally late, are you okay?" She was always concerned, House thought. It was sweet but she shouldn't be so caring all the time, one day it could lead to her downfall.

"I'm fine," House replied. "Last night the voice of God told me in a dream that we probably wouldn't have a case today and told me to stop at Cuddy's office this morning and demand that she find us a case, all the while looking down her blouse. That's why I'm late today." House noted the sceptical looks on Cameron and Foreman's faces. "Okay, I made up the part about Him telling me to look down her blouse. That was all my idea."

Foreman was the first to challenge his theory as usual. "So by the voice of God you mean me beeping you this morning and telling you that we don't have a case again and by you confronting Cuddy you mean staying in bed for an extra half an hour and avoiding Cuddy at all costs. Although you probably will look down her blouse later."

House stared at Foreman feigning a look of open-mouthed amazement. "It's official: Foreman is God! HALLELUJIA! Boy, you're good Foreman." Cameron rolled her eyes and Foreman raised an eyebrow with that classic sceptic look of his.

"Well seeing as we don't have a case today I'm off to do more mundane work. Have fun in the clinic House," Foreman said with a smile as he exited the conference room. House cringed at the word 'clinic'. He also noted that there were only two of his ducklings here today. "Where's Chase?" he asked Cameron.

"I don't know. Normally he's here at 9:00 but he's over an hour late. Want me to call him?"

"No it's okay I'll do it. Go and get some work done," House replied, thinking that calling Chase would delay clinic duty even more.

Cameron left and House went to his office and dialled Chase's home number. After the fifth ring the phone was answered but nobody spoke. Instead all House could hear was a heavy breathing on the other end of the line. "Hello? Chase is that you?" The heavy breathing continued and House started to feel a little uneasy. If this was Chase joking around he would get the biggest pile of paperwork imaginable. "Chase if this is your idea of a joke then next time try a knock-knock joke when I knock on your door. Chase?" The breathing continued for a couple more seconds and then the line went dead. House put down the receiver and tried again but the phone didn't even ring this time. He then tried Chase's cell but to no avail.

House then dialled Cuddy's office number and after a few minutes being yelled at for being late and in his office instead of the clinic House managed to persuade her to send someone over to Chase's house to see if he was there. House of course volunteered to go himself but Cuddy wouldn't hear of it and told him he's been out of clinic duty long enough. He popped another Vicodin as the pain in his leg started to throb dully. The call to Chases home made House uneasy. It felt as if whoever was on the other end of the line was listening and enjoying making him feel that way. As House made his way to the clinic he thought Chase will be fine, it was probably some misunderstanding. But he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't Chase he was listening to on the phone.

* * *

_The only sound that could be heard was the blonde one's heavy breathing and terrified whimpers, muffled by the tape over his mouth. The man opposite him just stood and stared, a curl at each end of his lips forming a small, cruel smile. He enjoyed watching the blonde one cry in desperation and pull at his restraints as if he had a chance of escaping. _

_Most people, weak people, would break emotionally at the sight before him. They would feel fear, they would feel sick and their hearts would break. Not him though, he thought this sight was beautiful. He loved the way the blonde's sapphire-emerald eyes were wide with fear. He loved the way he was trembling and was struggling to breathe evenly through his nose, the tape making it difficult to keep his breaths even. He loved the way the sweat was running down his face and neck as he struggled, desperate to escape his nightmare. And most of all, he loved it when a tear fell from the blonde mans eye. How beautiful it would be to mix those tears with blood. He needed to hear this man scream, he needed to test his soul. _

_His footsteps sounded muffled as he walked over to the hospital tray in the corner of the room. He wheeled it over to where he had strapped the blonde one down to a hospital bed. The blonde one's cries and __the sound of the tray wheeling across the linoleum floor made no effort to bounce their echoes off the white-washed walls. The room was soundproof, giving the impression that they were in a giant coffin, the dead trying to claw their way in from their muddy graves. He stopped the tray beside the blonde mans bed, uncovering a lot of shiny instruments which made the blonde one choke out a desperate sob and scrunch his eyes up tight. He will take the tape off his mouth when he inflicts the first wound and listen to him scream and scream and scream... _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:** A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review!

**Authors note:** Thanks so much for all the reviews and reads so far, I really appreciate and enjoy reading them. Thanks also to everyone who has added my story to their alert lists, much appreciated! Rating is still the same as previous chapters, no warnings.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)

**Chapter 3**

The oversized red and grey tennis ball bounced off the wall and House caught it with ease. He threw it again and again, catching it every time. House often did this when he was thinking and the answer to an unsolved puzzle wouldn't come to him right away. This answer refused to come out of hiding though, no matter how hard he concentrated or how many times he threw the tennis ball.

He had escaped from the clinic's jungle of snotty noses, chesty coughs and crotch-rots fifteen minutes earlier for lunch and had come to his office to think about the rather sinister phone call incident that took place over an hour ago. He wondered who it was breathing heavily into the receiver on the other end, or if it was just Chase doing a really bad Darth Vader impression. He hoped it was the latter because even though the former could be something completely different to what he was imagining, he had a feeling that it wasn't.

But House was a man of facts and science; he rarely went through life basing his decisions on feelings or hunches. So the facts so far say that it's far more likely that Chase is off sick than him being hacked by a man in a hockey mask, abducted by aliens or bludgeoned by a burglar. He pushed the breathing part to the back of his mind.

House put a Vicodin into his mouth and swallowed it dry just as Cuddy and a uniformed police officer came into his office. House held his hands up as if surrendering. "Officer, I swear I didn't do it. It was the voices in my head!" But neither the police officer, nor Cuddy were in a joking mood and House knew this wasn't going to be good news. Cameron and Foreman also took this time to join them having seen the police officer and Cuddy from the conference room, they knew this was going to be about Chase and wanted to hear the news.

House looked at the police officer. He was tall and well built; he had deep brown eyes and a head of jet black, combed back hair. He didn't suit that uniform at all; House thought he would look more at home in a black suit with a white shirt and a homburg hat with a cigar in his mouth.

The officer stepped forward and spoke (he even sounded like a mafia guy, House noted) "Doctor House, I'm Officer Mosca. I'm afraid it ain't good news about Doctor Chase."

House felt his stomach tighten but didn't let his expression show it. "Well way to keep me in suspense Officer, you want to leave me hanging all day?"

Cuddy looked annoyed, and Foreman and Cameron looked worried. Mosca continued, "I got a call about forty minutes ago from the security guard that Doctor Cuddy sent over to Chase's home to check on him. He said he got no response when he knocked on Chase's door and when he looked through the window it looked as if the place had been ransacked. So he called the police and when I went over there and kicked the door in, sure enough the place looked like a bomb sight. There were clear signs of a struggle and the phone was off the hook."

"Maybe he just had a drunken night last night and trashed the place, he is Australian you know," House suggested, trying to add a bit of humour into a far from humorous situation.

"I don't think so; the evidence in his place strongly suggests kidnap. Along with the heavy breathing you heard when you called his place and... this." Mosca handed House an evidence bag with a piece of paper inside. "It was found lying beside Chase's phone."

House looked at the piece of paper. In neatly printed letters were the words:

_**'Twixt my house and thy house the pathway is broad,  
In thy house or my house is half the world's hoard;  
By my house and thy house hangs all the world's fate,  
On thy house and my house lies half the world's hate.**_

House turned over the evidence bag to see the other side of the note. House's name was printed in bold, capital letters. He thought it would be addressed to him seeing as the short poem had the word 'house' in it more than once. House felt a shiver run up his spine, what the hell was going on here?

* * *

_He stood alone under the shelter of a large oak tree, his breath coming out in frosty white puffs of air, the night chill making his lips numb. He pulled his collar up high around his neck, keeping out as much of the cold as he could. He watched the building opposite him like a hawk waiting for its prey, ever watchful and always ready. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against __the thick trunk of the canvassing oak. _

_Not one person who had walked past had noticed him, all too involved in their own personal thoughts and dilemmas. They wouldn't notice him unless he jumped out from his hiding place and gutted them with a filleting knife, because he was as silent as a fox, as still as a statue and the shadows engulfed him making him virtually impossible to detect. He lived in shadow and knew how to use them to his advantage. They could either be your best friend or your worst enemy._

_He wondered when the doctor would come home. He had to handle this one differently to the blonde one. The blonde man wasn't too difficult to take down physically but he knew this one would be more of a challenge. So he decided to wait until he's asleep. He should be able to pick the lock on his door easily enough. Yes, he'll wait until the doctor is asleep; he's good at waiting..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary:** A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review!

**Authors note:** Sorry this chapter has took longer to upload than the others, my muses were away on holiday. Thanks so much for all the reads and reviews, love reading each and every one of them :) Some swear words in this chapter and some violence, have moved the rating up to a T.

Chapter 5 will be up in two weeks, I am on holiday in sunny Italy and France :D

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)

**Chapter 4**

"House, do you have to put your feet up on his bed?"

"Why? Do you think he'll wake up? Maybe we should set off an alarm clock in his room tomorrow morning and see if he reaches out to switch it off. Sure-fire way to tell if he's faking or not."

House and Wilson were sitting in the room of a patient who'd been in a coma for two years and still hadn't woken up. They had been in there ever since Wilson found House hiding in there from Cuddy and the inevitable task of him having to do clinic duty.

Wilson also knew that House was in there for another reason though. The events that took place yesterday morning had troubled him. From Chase being kidnapped to the lunatic who took him leaving an excerpt from the Rudyard Kipling poem 'The Houses', ironically addressed to House.

House didn't have a clue why the kidnapper had addressed the note to him, nor did he know what the significance was. If it was some disgruntled patient who he'd offended from the past or present who was just trying to fuck with him, then it would be one hell of a long list to compile. He'd told the same thing to the police yesterday when they'd took a statement from him.

Another thought also niggled at House, if it was someone with a personal grudge against House, why take Chase and not himself? What did Chase have to do with any of this? All these questions annoyed House to no end because he didn't have the answers. The puzzle wasn't coming together at all and he felt like he'd lost a dozen pieces.

"So, do they have any clue as to who it might be? Did the kidnapper leave any clues at the crime scene?" asked Wilson. He was getting increasingly worried for Chase. He knew House was too but was trying not to show it. House was dealing with it the way he dealt with all things: Keep your feelings inside and deal with them on your own. Don't involve anyone else with your personal emotions.

"Well Sherlock," House began, again trying to deflect his worry with humour, "They have squat. No fingerprints were found at Chase's home. No witnesses saw or heard anything out of the ordinary and the note the psycho left was typed and printed from Chase's computer so it couldn't be traced. Forensics are looking for hair and fibre but that will take a while, I doubt they'll find anything anyway. Whoever took Chase is covering their tracks well."

House's deep blue, hypnotizing eyes became cloudy as he sat deep in thought. They transformed back to their usual piercing sapphire when Wilson interrupted his thoughts.

"Have Chase's family been notified?"

"Yeah but with his parents deceased there were only a few that he still speaks to every now and then. The police are going to keep them updated."

There was a knock on the door of the patient's room, cutting House and Wilson's conversation short.

"If it's Cuddy, I'm not here," said House, his fear of clinic duty making itself known.

"Right, hold on I'll just get those invisibility pills you've been prescribed. Good substitute for the Vicodin mind you," Wilson exclaimed sarcastically.

The door opened and Cameron entered, a troubled look on her face.

"You do know that the guy's in a coma. You hardly need his permission to enter now do you?" House remarked.

Cameron gave him a stern look. "I thought I'd find you here. I'm here because Forman hasn't shown in for work yet and it's nearly lunch time."

House and Wilson exchanged glances. Wilson looked worried and House felt exactly the same, hiding his feelings and trying not to jump to conclusions.

"I've tried calling him but he's not picking up. Should I tell Cuddy to send someone over to his place?" Cameron looked worried; she was thinking the exact same thing as House and Wilson. Had he been taken just like Chase?

"No, I'll go and check on the place myself," House said.

"Are you sure that's a good idea? Why not just let Cuddy send someone? Or better yet, let's just call the cops," Wilson suggested.

"Look, I'll be there in ten minutes if I go on my motorcycle. That's much faster than some fat security guard who will probably make a stop at the donut store on his way. Plus if we call the cops and it turns out to be nothing, which it easily could be, then they're going to be pissed at us for wasting their time. I'll be back in half an hour."

"Wait, what do I tell Cuddy if she asks where you are?" Cameron shouted after House who was already making his way out the door.

"Don't tell her anything," House replied as he made his way down the corridor and towards the parking lot.

XXX

House arrived at Foreman's apartment building eleven minutes later. He parked his motorcycle up and took the elevator to Foreman's floor. He had looked at Foreman's file often enough to know where he lived and which apartment number he lived in. It was a good job too seeing as this was the first time he'd ever been to Foreman's place.

House limped down the corridor, popping another Vicodin on his way and stopped outside Foreman's door. House knocked and after getting no response, knocked again.

"Foreman? You in there? Come on, open the door. I know you don't like me very much but I made the effort to come all the way down here. I even took the stairs and everything," House lied.

House tried the door handle and to his surprise, the door swung slowly inward. He felt a twinge of fear in the pit of his stomach. Why was the door unlocked? If Foreman was indeed inside still asleep then he surely would have locked it the night before. He also would've locked it if he was out. House pushed the door the rest of the way open with the end of his cane. The light from the hallway spilled in to the apartment, illuminating a few feet infront of him. House could see that the blinds in the living room were pulled down and the lights were off. So either Foreman hadn't been awake yet or... House didn't want to think about the other possibility.

House stepped into the apartment and switched the lights on. Everything looked in place; nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Just by looking at his living room, House could tell that Foreman was a bit of a neat freak. There was no clutter or mess anywhere in the room, no empty pizza boxes or Chinese food takeout menus scattered about the place. It kind of fitted though. Foreman was always thorough and well organized at work so why shouldn't his home be the same?

House made his way down a small hallway and entered the first room on his left. It was Foreman's bedroom and at first glance there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary here either. Everything was neat and tidy except for the bed which appeared to have been slept in, which means Foreman must have been here. But if he was here and had stepped out somewhere, why wasn't the bed made? Foreman seemed like the type of guy who wouldn't leave his bed unmade when he got up. And that's when House noticed the syringe lying next to the bed on the floor and a white slip of paper on the nightstand.

"Shit," House muttered moving towards the bed, his dread increasing with every step.

He kneeled down on his bad leg (so he could prop himself up on his good one) and with his sleeve covering his hand; he picked up and inspected the syringe. There was a small residue of liquid left in the syringe which House guessed was probably a sedative. There was also a small drop of blood on the needle which House hoped wasn't, but probably was, Foreman's blood.

Using his cane to get himself to his feet he looked at the piece of paper on the nightstand and he could see that it had his name printed on it, again in big bold capital letters. He didn't want to pick it up and read it. He just wanted to leave it where it was untouched, almost as if touching it would be playing into this freak's hands and putting himself in the front seat of this sick little game the guy was playing. He thought that whoever this person was, it was probably a male. He physically took down Chase and even though Chase was no heavyweight, he knew it would take some strength. He doubted a woman would be able to do that and wouldn't use that method.

House didn't want to read it but he had to, his curiosity outweighed his fear. He reached out to take the note and found that his hands were shaking. He willed them to stop and unfolded the slip of paper, remembering to use his sleeve again. It said what he suspected it would say. In neatly printed words was the second verse of the Rudyard Kipling poem 'The Houses':

_**For my house and thy house no help shall we find  
Save thy house and my house - kin cleaving to kind;  
If my house be taken, thine tumbleth anon.  
If thy house be forfeit, mine followeth soon.**_

House noticed that his heart was beating faster and his breaths were coming out quicker. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. First Chase and now Foreman. He put the paper back where he'd found it, placing it down rapidly as if it were a wild animal. He told himself to stay calm as he was on the verge of panicking, and when you let panic take over, you were no use to anybody. He quickly calmed himself and retrieved his cell phone from his pocket. He waited a few seconds until his breathing returned to normal and called the police.

* * *

_The black man is different to the blond one. When he awakes from the sedative and finds himself strapped down to a hospital bed and turns his head to the left seeing his colleague in the same predicament as him, he remains as stone faced as he can. The black man doesn't fool his tormentor though. He can remain as passive as he can manage but his eyes don't lie. Those deep brown pools are brimming with fear and he knows that it's just a matter of time before he will bring that fear out of the black man, making him scream all the while he's doing it.__**  
**__The man looks at his two possessions. He looks at the blond one who has passed out from the pain that has been inflicted on him. What a beautiful sight to behold. His hair is matted to his forehead with sweat and blood. Blood has dried in many places on his face including his chin, his nose and his left cheek. Fresh blood trickles from the three inch gash on his forehead. That wound made him scream the loudest. It's like looking at a work of art; he looks so peaceful lying there but his eyes move rapidly behind his lids. It's as if he's in a deep slumber and can't escape the nightmares that plague him, too scared to stay asleep but too terrified to wake up._

_With a sadistic grin and a hint of glee in his eyes, he turns toward his newest addition. This one isn't struggling like the blond one and he is trying not to panic. He knows that struggling is pointless and it hasn't done his colleague any good so it won't work for him. He is scared though and he will scream. The man walks over to the black man's bed and takes the tape off his mouth in one swift motion. He expects the black man to plead and beg but he instead stays silent and meets his eyes with an angry and fearful stare. This pleases him. He likes the defiant ones; it makes them so much more fun to break. _

_He retrieves his instruments of fun that he used on the blonde one and stops the tray beside his prisoner's bed. He picks up a pair of surgical scissors, the light reflecting off them as he holds them up for the black man to see. _

_He first holds the scissors near the black man's right eye which gets a flinch out of his victim but still no words. He then taps the scissors on the black one's chin and then holds them to his throat, enjoying immensely fucking with the man's mind. He then decides to go for the left earlobe and begins cutting through it with excitement. The black man starts to moan and as the scissors cut off more of the lobe a muffled scream escapes through his clenched teeth. His captor is having fun and starts snipping faster and harder, a chuckle sounding in the back of his throat. Blood is spurting from the incision and the scissors make a squelching sound when cutting through the flesh. When he is finished, the black man is sweating and breathing heavily. He's happy with this reaction but not happy enough; he wants to hear him scream._

_He kneels down and retrieves the steel pipe that is underneath the bed. The black man's eyes go wide at the sight of it and he scrunches up his eyes, awaiting the inevitable. But he only makes that muffled screaming sound again when his legs are being pounded repeatedly with the pipe. He doesn't even scream when a few of his bones break._

_The man holding the pipe stops, breathing heavily and eyes filled with excitement. This one is tough, his soul is really strong. That's good, that's very good. But he will break and he will scream._

_This is going to be fun, he thinks, reaching for the scalpel..._


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary:** A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review!

**Authors note:** Back from holiday now and can continue to write this story. Thanks for all the reads and reviews, please keep them coming. Also thanks to everyone who has added me or my story to their alert list, means a lot. Rating is still a T for violence and swear words.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)

**Chapter 5**

The words on the computer screen blurred before House and seemed to have no meaning. No matter how many times he re-read the same sentence or how many different ways he tried to read it, he couldn't seem to focus and none of the words seemed to make any sense.

House sat alone in his office, trying to read up on tropical diseases but his mind was elsewhere and he turned off the computer in frustration. When he found out that Chase had been taken, House had been walking around with a cloud of dread hanging over him that only rained occasionally. Now that Foreman had been taken by the same sick freak, that cloud had burst open and was raining heavily down upon him wherever he went, causing a constant feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach.

The cloud of dread was only increasing with each clueless crime scene the freak had left. The police had so far, again, come up empty while searching Foreman's place for evidence. The syringe they found by the bed was completely clean of fingerprints and the place of purchase couldn't be pinpointed as the kidnapper had used a syringe that could be found in almost any hospital or pharmacy in New Jersey. The note left to House was again typed up and printed on Foreman's home computer and according to the computer log; the note was typed up at 3:27am so that must have been around the time Foreman was taken. The time of the kidnapping made sure that there were no witnesses. Everybody was either sleeping peacefully in their beds at that time, or doing graveyard shifts at wherever they worked. The only witnesses to what happened were the quiet apartment hallways and the empty midnight streets.

If this kept on happening and the police didn't get a lead soon, it would only be a matter of time before the press got wind of this and started connecting the dots. House shuddered at the thought. This situation that was getting worse by the minute was the last thing he wanted to see spread all over the news.

House also couldn't stop the same questions from constantly spinning around in his head: Why take Chase and Foreman? Who was next? And most importantly, who was the bastard who was doing this? The last question was starting to drive House insane. He knew that it was the missing piece of the puzzle; if he could just find it then he would unlock the door that seemed to have no key. He would be able to save Chase and Foreman and whoever was the next target. House knew that it was impossible for him to foresee these terrible events that were taking place but he still felt partly responsible. Whoever was doing this was doing it to taunt House and he was having fun while doing it. House felt that if the freak wanted to hurt him he should have just taken him and left everyone else out of it. But he was hurting House in another way though, by taking the people closest to him. House didn't see Chase, Foreman or even Cameron as his friends but he saw these people every day, more than he saw his own family, and apart from Wilson, they were the people closest to him, there was no avoiding that fact. And now they were all being punished for being close to House. That's why House tried to avoid making close bonds with people whenever he could because whenever he got close to people they just ended up getting hurt. It's better to be alone and miserable than to get close to people and drag them down with you.

House was getting increasingly worried for Wilson, Cameron and even Cuddy. He didn't know who was a target in the freaks sick little game but he had to assume that it was anyone who he was relatively close with. House's leg started to ache, as did his head from thinking too hard. Since this all started he hadn't been able to get much sleep and didn't think he would until this was over. Depending upon how this all played out, House didn't suspect he would have another peaceful night's sleep again. He grabbed the bottle of Vicodin off his desk in front of him and swallowed the small pill a little more eagerly than he would have liked. He was teetering on desperation and it wasn't just his physical pain that was making him feel that way.

He needed to keep a clear head, he needed to walk. He would go and find Cameron and then make a stop at Wilson and Cuddy's offices. Without trying to come across as too concerned and worried, although Wilson would probably see right through him, he would tell them all to be careful tonight when they go home. They were all going to have a police guard stationed at their door throughout the night anyway, including himself, but House wasn't sure if even that was going to be enough.

* * *

_The hallway to the apartment is narrow and the door he wants is the one at the very end of the hall. He watches the pudgy, ageing cop who is guarding the door from around the corner. The cop is leaning with his right shoulder against the wall, more interested in a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe than guarding a potential kidnap victim. He looks like he should be behind a desk about to collect his pension, not doing a job as demanding as this. The cop looks like he'll be easy to deal with and this disappoints him, he wanted a challenge. But the fire inside him grows once more as he anticipates what is to come._

_His heartbeat never elevates, his palms or forehead don't get sweaty, his breathing never quickens and his eyes show no fear. When he has to be, he is a master at deception and keeping his emotions in check. Nothing can faze him when he is out to get what he wants and nobody is his equal._

_Since the door is at the end of the hall and there is nothing to provide any cover, a surprise-stealth attack is out of the question. Seeing the condition of the cop, he doesn't think he would have needed one anyway. He takes a silent, deep breath and starts to walk around the corner and down the hallway towards the cop._

_He walks as casually as a man walking his dog or out for an afternoon stroll. For the first few steps, the cop doesn't even notice him, still engrossed with the gum on his shoe. When he eventually looks up a look of confusion passes across his face for a second and then turns into a smile. His right hand doesn't move slowly towards his gun holstered on his hip and his left hand doesn't move towards his police radio. After all, he wouldn't shoot one of his own now would he? The police uniform looks good on him, although he's not sure if he has the face of a cop. Wearing the uniform makes him think of the cop he killed a while back who used to wear it. There is not one drop of blood on the uniform seeing as he killed the cop by suffocation. How he loved it when the cops body twitched and convulsed and he could hear the last breaths he was ever going to take come out in tortured, ragged gasps. It was such a beautiful sight to behold to watch his soul slip away._

"_Hey, haven't seen you around the precinct anywhere. You new or something?" The cop asked him. He couldn't decide whether it was suspicious questioning or just friendly curiosity. He decided to use the name of the cop whose uniform he was wearing. It wouldn't matter if this cop heard it; he would be dead in a minute anyway._

"_Hey yeah, I'm Officer Matthews. I just got transferred to this precinct so you could say I'm kind of new to these parts." _

"_Oh well, you're a little early Matthews. The shift change isn't until another twenty minutes. I'm Smith by the way." The man before him known as Smith held out his hand offering a hand shake. The man took it and pulled Smith towards him in a violent motion. "Nice to meet you Smith," he said and with one swift motion he pulled out the knife from his waistband at the back of his pants and pierced Smiths heart, killing him in a matter of seconds. Smith's eyes went wide with fear and he coughed up blood. He then began to twitch and gasp for breath but his attempts were futile and the last breath came out of him in a small whimper. _

_He laid Smith down on the floor as quietly as he could and switched off his police radio as to not attract any attention from the other apartments. So far he had made a minimum amount of noise and didn't think anyone will have heard him. He was careful and had been in much riskier situations than this before. He knew he had to hurry though. Another cop would be on the scene in twenty minutes for the shift change, maybe sooner if they tried to radio Smith and got no response. Even more dangerous was the fact that anyone could come out of their apartments that ran along the hallway at any second._

_This only excited him further though and made it much more fun. He looked at the dead cop on the floor before him. He looked at the blood that was seeping from the heart wound and how it appeared brilliant crimson against the cream coloured carpet. He looked at the cops lifeless, glassy eyes and felt an incredible feeling of warmness run through his entire body. These are the moments he lives for, he takes lives and gains a piece in the process. It makes him a more complete person. It finds the pieces of him that are missing._

_Once he gets inside the apartment he knows he will have plenty of time to do what he has to do and get away safely. Even if the body is discovered before the shift change, backup won't arrive for at least ten minutes and by then he'll be well gone. He steps over the dead body at his feet and picks the lock with __ease. He opens the door silently and swiftly and enters the apartment with the chloroform in hand..._


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary:** A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review!

**Authors note:** Sorry I'm taking a while to update this; just started Uni and things have been a little busy at the moment. Thanks so much for all the reads and reviews, I enjoy reading them as much as I enjoy writing this story.

Rating for this chapter has been moved up to an M for swearing and violence.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)

The first thing House was aware of when he awoke from a troubled sleep was the throbbing pain in his leg. The second thing he was aware of through the haze of pain was the phone ringing. He looked at the clock on the nightstand; it read 3:25 am. Who the hell could be calling at this hour? Before he even considered answering the phone he needed to find his Vicodin. It wasn't on the nightstand or anywhere on or under his bed. He got out of bed with a grunt of pain and hobbled towards the living room where the ringing of the phone got louder. As House was turning the sofa cushions upside down, his urgency increasing each time he didn't find his pills, the phone stopped ringing and his answering machine message began to play; "You've reached a number which has been disconnected and is no longer in service. If you feel you've reached this recording in error, go with it, hang up. On three: One, two..." The machine then beeped and a man's voice came on the line, "Dr House? This is Detective Bowman from the New Jersey State Detective Agency. I've been put in charge of the abduction cases involving your colleagues. If you're there please pick up, this is very urgent..."

House immediately stopped searching for his Vicodin and limped to the phone as fast as he could, ignoring the throbbing in his leg which was now at level eight on the pain scale. He answered the phone panting and sweating.

"Yeah this is House."

"Dr House are you okay? Your breathing sounds very laboured."

"Well you just caught me in the middle of a threesome with Pamela Anderson and Halle Berry. It has nothing to do with the fact that I'm a cripple who had to sprint to the phone to answer your call. Plus I couldn't find my Viagra."

Detective Bowman gave an exasperated sigh and continued, "I'm sorry for waking you Dr House but this is very urgent. I'm afraid I have some bad news; it looks like Allison Cameron has been taken from her home about an hour ago. The Officer who was stationed at her door has been murdered."

House felt sick, his whole body felt numb. He heard Bowman talking to him on the other end of the line but his voice was a distant echo, House couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. The phone began to tremble in his hand and he was gripping it with such ferocity that it was in danger of breaking. House forgot about everything, the pain in his leg, Bowman's voice, the cold sweat he had broken out into making him shiver, everything was forgotten but Cameron. Not Cameron, please not her. She was so sweet, so innocent, so caring and now that bastard had taken her. He would take away her sweetness, shatter her innocence and make her not care about anything anymore. The freak would take away everything that made Chase, Foreman and Cameron who they were and leave nothing behind but empty shells of human beings.

House began to shake not with fear this time but anger, he would get this son of a bitch if it was the last thing he did. His free hand was balled up into a fist so hard his fingernails were digging painfully into the palm of his hand. He was on the verge of losing it and forced himself to calm down. His breathing slowed down and his hand relaxed just a little. House willed himself to listen to what Bowman was saying.

"House are you there? Do you hear me?"

"I-I'm sorry Detective, what were you saying?"

"I said that about an hour ago an Officer went to Dr Cameron's apartment for the shift change with Officer Smith. When he got there he found Smith dead in the hallway from a stab wound to his heart and no murder weapon. When he entered Dr Cameron's apartment she wasn't there and he found a cloth lying on the floor with traces of chloroform on it and saliva. We've sent it over to the lab to get DNA tests on it to find out who the saliva belongs to but the most likely guess is that it's Dr Cameron's. The coroner said that Smith was most likely killed about 20-30 minutes before the Officer arrived on the scene for the shift change."

"So he couldn't have gotten far in that time, are you close to finding him?"

"We're checking all possible avenues now. CCTV tapes, witnesses and we're also working up a profile of this guy now. We're pretty sure it's the same guy who took Dr Chase and Dr Foreman."

"_Pretty _sure?"

"Well there is one inconsistency in regards to his other abductions; He hasn't left a note this time."

House was puzzled. The bastard always left a note at the scene of his crimes; he loved taunting House with his "you'll never catch me" attitude. It's not like it was a big loss or anything. The note probably would have been typed on Cameron's computer and he expected it would be the last verse of 'The Houses' which offered no clue to the freaks identity whatsoever. Maybe he just didn't have time to type one up this time.

"It's definitely the same guy; it's too much of a coincidence not to be."

"I agree and we've got our best people on the case. We'd like to speak to you as soon as possible with any latest developments and we have a few questions for you so we'll come and see you at the hospital tomorrow if that's okay."

"Yeah sure, thanks," said House half-heartedly.

"Okay, try and get some rest Dr House."

"I think the last thing I'll be doing tonight is sleeping Detective Bowman," exclaimed House and hung up.

House didn't know what to do. The events that had taken place in the last few days were taking their toll on him and he could feel himself gradually breaking down. He knew he had to stay strong and not let the freak get to him because that's exactly what he wanted but it was getting harder and harder each time another person was taken. He decided he would take a Vicodin, get a bottle of gin from the kitchen and just sit in the dark. No point in sleeping now and he wouldn't be able to even if he tried.

Now where the hell was his Vicodin? He scanned the room and his eyes came to rest on his piano and the bottle of Vicodin that was sitting on top of it. They weren't there before were they? Maybe they were and he didn't notice, he was after all preoccupied looking under the sofa cushions and the incessant phone ringing. He limped over to the piano and saw that not only were the Vicodin sitting on top of the giant instrument, but a white piece of paper as well. House knew immediately what the paper was and snatched it up sending the Vicodin tumbling to the floor. He read it with that familiar feeling of dread in his stomach.

_**'Twixt my house and thy house what talk can there be  
Of headship or lordship, or service or fee?  
Since my house to thy house no greater can send  
Than thy house to my house -- friend comforting friend;  
And thy house to my house no meaner can bring  
Than my house to thy house -- King counselling King. **_

What a surprise, House thought. Again offers no clue of catching this bastard, just another dead end fucking riddle. But House noticed that there was also more writing on the back of the note and it wasn't just House's name this time.

_**HOUSE. Do not disappoint me and fail the first test I will set for you.**_

What first test? And then House got his answer as he felt a sharp pain in the back of his head and fell to the floor, hitting the piano on the way down. He lay on his back looking up at the ceiling which was spinning by this point. His vision was blurred and he felt something warm and sticky at the back of his head. Then a figure in black loomed over him, his face covered by a black gas mask that they use in the military. He had an object in each hand but House couldn't make them out as his vision was still blurry. He could hear the freaks excited breathing and wanted to scream for help but couldn't. It was as if his voice box was encased in ice, he just couldn't muster up any sound. Where the hell was the cop who was supposed to be guarding his door? The man in the mask knelt down beside House and touched his left hand through gloved fingers. House tried to pull away as the thought of this man touching him, even with gloves on, repulsed him. But his limbs felt as if they weighed ten tonnes and he could barely move. Just how hard had this guy hit him? The freak pulled out House's left hand so his arm was stretched out and his palm lay face up on the floor. The man in the mask then knelt on House's arm so he couldn't move it and picked up the tools he had had in his hands before. House tried to see what the man was doing but the freak was obscuring his view. House's breathing sped up and he started to sweat, what was he going to do to him? He felt something cold and hard touch the palm of his hand. He tried to call out for help, he tried to kick his legs, he tried to do anything that would get him out of this nightmare but he couldn't. But then he did scream as he felt an excruciating pain is his hand which travelled all the way up his arm. He screamed through gritted teeth as he felt it again, the pain becoming almost unbearable. Stay awake, he thought. Keep your eyes open and get a profile of this bastard, how tall he is, his build, age range. But the blanket of pain was covering him and he drifted away in its darkness.

XXX

House awoke and tried to lift his head but thought better of it when it started to throb. He looked around for the freak but guessed he must be gone. He's had his fun for the moment; he's had his little mind fuck. House tried to move his left hand which emitted another pained scream from him when a bolt of pain shot through his fingers and up his arm. He didn't want to look as he was scared at what he might see. But he had to; he had to assess the damage. He slowly turned his head to the left and let out a choked sob when he saw his hand. A screwdriver had been embedded into the palm of his hand and into the floor underneath. Beside his hand was a hammer lying in a small pool of blood.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary:** A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review!

**Authors note:** Haven't updated this in a while and I'm sorry. Things have been crazy lately. I hope you all will enjoy this chapter and again, thanks for all the reads and reviews :)

Rating for chapter is still M.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)

House wasn't sure how long he had lay there just looking at the screwdriver embedded into his hand but he knew he had to do something soon as the pain was unbearable, even the slightest movement would emit an excruciating pain that started in his hand and travelled through the rest of his body. He tried calling out for help several times but to no avail. He guessed that the cop who was guarding his door was either dead or had momentarily gone tone deaf, the former being far more likely.

House thought about waiting it out until another cop arrived on the scene after getting no response from the one who was supposed to be posted at his door. But he couldn't wait that long, even if it only would be about twenty minutes. He needed to get the freaks little present out of his hand now. Plus, the more time he spent lying here, the more time for the sick bastard to make his escape.

House braced himself for the pain and turned over on to his left side so he was facing the macabre sight of his hand. He hissed through gritted teeth as the pain in his hand flared up and began to throb painfully. What he wouldn't give for a Vicodin right now. He tried to concentrate and inspected his hand, seeing the full extent of the damage. There wasn't much blood which meant the screwdriver was probably restricting the flow, so when he did the inevitable task of pulling the screwdriver out he would probably need a couple of dozen band-aids. He gritted his teeth and took hold of the weapon. His breathing quickened as the pain became as sharp as a razor blade when he began to pull on the screwdriver, trying to get it out of the floor and out of his hand. The screwdriver wouldn't budge. How hard and how deep had the freak hammered it into the floor?

He tried a different method and began to wiggle the screwdriver back and forth, pulling it upwards all the while. This emitted a pained scream from House and his vision blurred through the effort and pain as his eyes began to well up. He was sweating and panting and his face was in a grimace of agony but he wouldn't give up and carried on working the screwdriver. He felt a surge of relief when he felt the tool move an inch and this spurred him on to keep going no matter how bad the pain was. The pain was reaching number ten on the pain scale now, keep going, almost there, nearly out, come on you bastard! Finally the screwdriver came loose and House let out a huge gasp of air. But the work was not done yet; he still had to get the screwdriver out of his hand. He sat up with a grunt, sweat stinging his eyes and mingling with his tears of pure effort and pain. This part was easier however and he pulled the screwdriver out of his hand in one smooth, quick motion. He dropped the tool of torture on to the floor and hobbled to the bathroom to wash his hand and fix it up, which now had begun to bleed a brilliant scarlet.

XXX

"Jesus H, he really did a number on your hand didn't he?" said Detective Bowman as soon as he saw House that morning in the hospital.

"Yeah, and try not to interpret this as a crude remark Detective, but I literally got screwed didn't I?" replied House.

But even House wasn't in the mood to be sarcastic today; he looked and felt like shit. His hair was messier than it usually was and his stubble was growing darker by the day. It wouldn't be long until he had a fully grown hobo beard. He had dark circles underneath his eyes from lack of sleep and his skin was pale. Everything was taking its toll on him now but he knew he had no right to complain. Not while Chase, Foreman and Cameron were being held by the lunatic who was doing God knows what to them.

"Are you okay?" asked Cuddy, a concerned look on her face.

"I'm fine," replied House, taking a seat at her desk which Cuddy was sitting behind while Bowman was sitting next to him. He popped a Vicodin not only for the pain in his leg but for his hand too. He'd had it checked out when the police officers arrived at his place last night after the attack. There was no infection and he had it bandaged up by one of the medical doctors. It would heal up by itself, leaving behind a nasty scar as a reminder of this whole horrific ordeal which he could still see no end to.

Fortunately the cop who was guarding his door was still alive. Apparently the killer had shot a tranquilizer dart at him with enough sedative in it to take down an elephant. He then dragged Sleeping Beauty into House's apartment out of view of the other ones. So the cop was in the room the whole time, oblivious to the gruesome act taking place while he slept peacefully. House didn't understand why the freak didn't kill this cop too. Inflicting pain obviously excites him, as does killing probably, so why shoot him with a tranquilizer and not just kill him? Maybe he didn't want to take the risk of someone overhearing him or catching him in the act. After all, House was the person the freak liked taunting the most so he couldn't chance getting caught and be deprived of the chance to have his little moment with House and the screwdriver.

House ran a hand through his hair making it even more messy and got straight down to brass tacks, "So Bowman, you any closer to finding Houdini or what?"

Bowman was a tall man with mousey strawberry blonde hair and moustache who looked every bit the Detective. He was probably in his mid forties, and his demeanour and cold, hard grey eyes showed years of experience and sights he'd saw that he would never want to see again but knew he probably would. He wore a long grey trench coat and a hat to match. House felt a little more at ease knowing that Bowman would be heading the case.

"Well first off he didn't leave any forensic traces at your place but there's no surprise there as he never has done before. The note he left you was also printed and typed up on Cameron's computer, again no surprise. Officer Cross, the guy who was guarding your door, can't give us a description of our guy as he said the dart just came out of nowhere. He barely had time to react before he was out cold. But we're working up the description you gave to the police last night and see if we can come up with anything. We're also going to try and find an origin of the gas mask you say he was wearing. It's a long shot but we might get lucky."

"What about CCTV, witnesses, that sort of stuff?" House asked impatiently. He was sick of the police constantly coming up on empty at every crime scene, even though he knew that it wasn't their fault.

"There's hours of CCTV footage to go through so that may take some time but we're going as fast as we can. No witnesses saw anyone leaving your building at the time of the attack and no unusual cars parked in the street. But it's possible that he parked a few streets away to avoid rousing suspicion so we're checking on that. We believe that not long after he took Dr Cameron he came over to your place. I'm sorry to say that he hasn't left any evidence at her place either but we're checking with witnesses."

"That's it?" House asked, his temper rising. "He's kidnapped three people, murdered a police man and stuck a screwdriver through my hand and you've again come up with jack shit?!" His voice was rising and his emotions were boiling over. He knew he was being unreasonable as it wasn't Bowman's fault and he realised the police were doing everything they could. He knew all of this anger was towards the killer and seeing as he was as elusive as the invisible man, House was taking his frustrations out on the people closest to hand.

Cuddy stood up, "House! Calm down, Detective Bowman is doing everything he can. We're all pissed at the lack of clues this guy is leaving but that's nobody's fault and getting angry isn't going to do anything but make things worse."

House calmed down. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to be an ass. I just want to find this son on a bitch."

"We all do House, and I promise you I've got my best people on it. We will find him, I give you my word."

House wasn't so sure. He could just picture Chase, Foreman and Cameron all chained up in some basement somewhere screaming and crying in the dark. He fought down the urge to vomit. Screaming and crying in the dark...

* * *

"_Please let us go! Why are you doing this?" She's screaming and crying through choked sobs, asking pointless questions because he doesn't answer her. He just stands there staring at her through eyes that are alive with excitement. She even screams for help a few times which doesn't wake the unconscious blonde one and only gains a look of pain and desperation from the black man. Her cries will go unheard as no one will hear her, no one but him and his other two possessions. _

_The woman is a lot more panicky than the others at first. She strains violently against her bonds and cries and pleads. This only excites him further though as he is hearing her scream without even having to inflict any pain on her. He imagines what she will scream like when he does hurt her and the thought is so remarkably sweet. She tires herself out after a while though and eventually just lies there sobbing silently, the occasional whimper escaping her lips every now and then._

_He stands there intently, marvelling at her beauty. He runs his eyes over every inch of her body and she squirms uncomfortably under his scrutiny. She has such a petite frame and looks so fragile. But he knows there is a strong soul inside of her. He looks at her perfect porcelain skin and longs to touch it. She certainly does have a beautiful face, her emerald eyes and perfectly shaped lips make her face a beautiful sight to behold. How he longs to smash that beauty to pieces with a hammer or a metal pipe. It would be a beauty in itself to destroy something as beautiful as that. Just to smash and smash until there is nothing left but blood and bone. But he resists the urge and just watches her cry. He will have some fun with her but not to that extent, not yet. Instead he goes over to her bed where she is strapped down and runs his fingers lightly over her hair. She flinches at the touch and tries to move away. He then leans over her so his face is inches away from hers and licks a tear off her cheek, savouring the salty taste of her misery. She squirms in disgust and he lets out a low chuckle. Never taking his eyes off her for a second, he reaches for his tools of torture._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary:** A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review!

**Authors note:** I hope everyone had a great Christmas. Sorry I'm taking so long to upload this. I hope to get it finished soon. Thanks for all the reads and reviews, please keep them coming.

Rating for chapter is still M.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)

After his meeting with Bowman and Cuddy, House made his way up to Wilson's office. If anyone was the next target in the freaks sick little game, he suspected it would be Wilson. If he was wrong and the next target was Cuddy or indeed himself... he didn't know what he would do. If House was the next person the killer was going to take, then in a way he would be thankful that Cuddy and Wilson were spared, but he wasn't willing to bet that the bastard would be that merciful. They all had police escorts with them of course but House knew how easily the killer could deal with those.

He didn't bother to knock before entering Wilson's office and this came as no surprise to his best friend who barely glanced up from the paperwork he was filling in.

"You know one of these days when you burst in here unannounced I'm either going to be having sex in my office, doing aerobic exercises to a fitness video or taking drugs. And we both know how awkward that will make things between us," said Wilson looking up from his paperwork.

"Awkward? That's solid gold blackmailing material right there. You'd be doing my clinic hours for a month. I think I'll continue these little surprise visits. But don't let that stop you from continuing illegal activities in your office."

"Did the police find anything?" asked Wilson, steering the conversation in a more serious direction.

"Nothing as usual." The two men were silent until House's blue eyes met with Wilsons brown eyes and he said what he came to say, "Wilson?" Wilson looked at House and House continued. "I want you to stay with your police escort the entire time okay? Even if you just need to go to the store around the corner, the cop goes with you. Hell, even if you need to take a piss the cop should know about it. And even though he'll be guarding your door, keep it locked. The same goes for your windows and-"

"House," Wilson cut him off. "It's okay. I figured I might be the next one to be taken and don't worry, I'll take all the necessary precautions. I'll be safe with this cop; you need to start thinking about yourself."

"I'm fine. I'll start thinking about myself when I'm the next likely target. Just... be careful."

Wilson nodded his head. He knew there was so much more House wanted to say to him but couldn't. It was hard enough for House just to tell him to be careful. Wilson knew how concerned House was for him and Wilson felt the same way about House. He was already worried sick for Cameron, Chase and Foreman and he didn't know what he'd do if House was taken. The very thought made him nauseous. He just hoped to God this sick son of a bitch would be caught before more damage could be caused. He also hoped with all his heart and soul that Cameron, Chase and Foreman were still alive.

"I'll walk out with you later," Wilson offered. "That way you can tell my police escort to keep a close eye on me. He'll listen to you, what with your brilliant way with words and all."

House smirked. "Of course, me being the silver tongued charmer that I am, after words with me he'll guard you better than he would the President."

"I'll stop by your office when I'm finished later. Be careful on the way back now," Wilson said with a smile.

"Will you hold my hand Mommy?" House exclaimed sarcastically and made his way back to his own office.

House felt a little bit better after his conversation with Wilson. Not a whole lot better but a little. Maybe the freak would get caught this time, maybe he would be prevented from taking anyone else. He knew they needed a lucky break soon, there's only so much bad luck a person can take.

XXX

House awoke in a panic, wondering where he was. He calmed down when he realised he had fallen asleep in his office. He looked at the clock; it read 4:45pm. Wilson should be finishing soon. House remembered that he had fallen asleep making a mental list of all the people who held a grudge against him and all the patients who had complained about him. House didn't think that he'd been that much of an ass to anybody to deserve this, but as he'd learned from past experience, the smallest thing to him could be the biggest thing to someone else. There were some whackjobs out there who would kill you for spilling a cup of coffee on them.

After losing count of how many people he had thought of, the past few days took their toll on him and he fell asleep with his head on his desk. He massaged his neck which was now stiff as a board due to the awkward position he'd fell asleep in. He grabbed his Vicodin and swallowed them dry, willing the pain in his leg and injured hand to go on vacation for a while.

He decided he would go and see how long Wilson was going to be. Just as he was putting on his coat and picking up his backpack, Wilson appeared in the doorway.

"You ready?"

"It's about time!" House said, feigning outrage. "I have been asleep all day just waiting for you to finish your paperwork!"

"My heart bleeds for you House," Wilson replied sarcastically.

The two men made their way down to the lobby in the elevator and found Wilson's police escort sitting down reading a fishing magazine.

"Hey, where's my guy?" House asked, referring to his police escort.

"He's in the John, he'll be out in a minute," the cop, known as Andrews informed them.

"Oh how poetic. Well as it so happens, I need the "John" too so I'll tell my guy to hurry his ass up if I happen to see him."

"I just have to put some stuff in my car so I'll see you in a minute," Wilson told House.

House hobbled into the bathroom and relieved himself. His police escort, Hamilton, was washing his hands. As Hamilton passed him, he told House he would wait for him outside.

As House held his hands under the dryer after washing them, his mind began to wander again. He could see Chase, Foreman and Cameron in his mind. He could see their faces. What was happening to them right now? What was _he_ doing to them? Were they being horribly tortured? Left in a windowless room to starve? Thrown into a deep, dark cellar for so long that the only outcome was madness? If he ever saw them again would they be the same people they were before they were taken? Or would they have been too mentally and physically scarred that their mentality would've snapped and their eyes would be forever lifeless? House hated not knowing and this speculation was doing nothing but making him feel worse. He realised that his hands had been dry for some time but he had gotten so lost in thought he had held them under the dryer regardless.

He grabbed his cane that he had propped up against the wall and made his way out the door. When he stepped out into the lobby he only saw Andrews and Hamilton... but no Wilson. Panic hit him like a bucket of water and he scanned the area quickly but to no avail.

"Where's Wilson?" he demanded of the two cops.

"He went to put some things in his car," replied Andrews motioning towards the parking lot at the front of the hospital. "He said he'll be back in two minutes."

"And you didn't go with him?!" House asked, his voice and ager rising.

"Relax, I can see him from here, he's right-" Andrews stopped in mid sentence when he realised he couldn't see Wilson any more.

House looked toward the parking lot, breaking out in a cold sweat. In a blind panic he began limping towards the doors as fast as he could, ignoring the pain in his leg and the shouting of the two cops behind him who had now begun to follow with their hands on their weapons. Despite his limp, House made it to Wilsons car before Andrews and Hamilton and stopped abruptly when he saw that the passenger's side door was open and papers and documents, Wilsons papers and documents, were strewn all over the floor, some blowing away in the cold night wind.

Behind him he heard one of the cops on his radio calling for backup and reporting Wilson as missing. He was briefly aware that the other one had gone to search the perimeter with his weapon drawn. But none of that mattered, nothing mattered but Wilson. House stood in a daze just staring at Wilson's car and noticed the note on the windshield. As if his body was on auto pilot House unfolded the note, his hands shaking violently and read the simple word that was typed up on the clean white paper.

**SOON...**

It was then that House broke free of the daze he was in and the realisation that his best friend had been taken hit him like a tonne of bricks. He began to shake all over and his head began to spin. He felt his legs go weak beneath him and fell to the pavement on his knees, sending an excruciating pain up his leg and vomiting on the floor beside him. This can't be happening. Not Wilson, not James, please no! House began to breathe very heavily and knew he had to get himself under control but he could just see Wilson being dragged off into the dark by this sick freak and he found that getting under control was going to be nothing short of a miracle. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around to see that it was Hamilton. He turned his attention back to the pavement and tried to focus and calm down. He looked at Wilson's papers that littered the floor and noticed five small drops of blood on one of them. He felt a stab of fear in his stomach and knew that it had to be Wilsons. He touched it, it was still warm.

With the help of Hamilton he got himself to his feet and made his way into the hospital to sit down.

"I've got a team on their way over here right now and a whole lot of cops out there looking for the bastard, he can't have gotten far. We'll find him House. I'll go and get you some water, just stay here."

House barely heard a word of what Hamilton said. He was thinking about what just happened. Why the Hell didn't Andrews go with Wilson to his car? He was more interested in reading his damn magazine. Why the fuck did I have to go to the bathroom? If I would have just gone with him none of this would have happened, House thought angrily. House couldn't help but blame himself for the whole thing. He should have been looking out for Wilson but he failed him, just like he failed Chase, Foreman and Cameron. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. He wished the bastard _would_ come for him now. He wished he would take him away, take him to wherever he was holding the others just to know what had happened to them.

House thought about how he liked to tease Chase at every opportunity and how he knew Chase looked up to him and respected him, despite how much of an ass House was to him. He thought about how he enjoyed it when Foreman would challenge his theories at every turn and remind House of himself sometimes, even though Foreman would be horrified at the thought. He thought about how kind and caring Cameron was, even if it did annoy him endlessly at times. How beautiful she looked when she came into work every day. He thought about the countless good times he'd had with Wilson. How Wilson was probably the only person in the world who could tolerate House's sarcasm and misery and despite it all still thought he was a pretty okay guy. House could feel all the emotion building up inside him, the rage, the anger, the sadness, the desperation and he didn't know what to do. So he did the only thing he could do, he buried his head in his hands, let it all out and he cried, he cried for them all...

* * *

_He stands admiring his collection and his latest addition. It's getting more perfect with each person he adds. It's almost a shame that he has to kill them all, but it must be done. He wonders how he will kill each of them. Of course he could just shoot each and every one of them or slit their throats but that would be no fun. He's had so much fun so far and wants to continue to do so right until the very end. _

_He stares at them all and listens to their sobs and heavy breathing. He wants to take a souvenir from each of them before he kills them. He will have all aspects of their personalities once he takes their souls. He thinks back to all of the people he has killed. Every one of them had been special and even in death they remain a part of him. Every time he killed a person, a part of that person became one with him. He knew they did, he could feel it. It was the most euphoric feeling he had ever experienced and every time he killed someone and felt that beautiful feeling of their life slipping away in his hands and then becoming a part of him, he immediately needed that feeling again. _

_But now he wants to be cleansed, wants his soul purified. He feels dirty and infected with the souls of the prostitutes, crack heads, homeless people and drug dealers that he has killed and wants to be free of them. What better way to cleanse your soul than to take the souls of five doctors who save lives every day? But of course he wants to have fun with them. The more he makes them suffer, the stronger their souls become. If they can withstand the trials that he is to set for them, all the more sweeter it will be when he kills them._

_He wants to take a loch of the blond one's hair as it is his best feature. Well, aside from his good looks but the killer wants to destroy that beauty not preserve it. He might burn the blonde ones face with a blowtorch and make House watch. _

_From the black guy he wants his hands. The killer wonders how many people's faces those hands have caved in when he was on the streets, and how many lives they have saved. Fighters hands and healing hands, it's the perfect trophy._

_He had to think hard about what he wants from the woman. The first thing would certainly be her beauty but he of course wants to shatter her beauty so her face will be unrecognizable and it will be of no use to him then. Besides, he will get her beauty when he gets her soul so there is no need to keep her face in perfect condition and then chop off her head and keep it. Where is the fun in that? He decides to take all ten of her toes. He didn't notice until he took off her shoes and socks that she has the daintiest feet and the most elegant toes. Each toenail painted in a deep red and cut to perfection. He decides he will do it while she's still alive, maybe House can cut off one or two. He gets excited just thinking about how loud she will scream._

_He looks at his latest addition strapped down on the bed, his deep brown eyes wide with fear. House's best friend who charms all the women, the Casanova of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. He can see why the women like him. A head of thick, light brown hair, brown puppy dog eyes, a strong jaw line and a charming smile. That's what he must take from Casanova; he must take some of his teeth. His smile is what draws the women to him, his honest smile and his warm and loving eyes. He will make Casanova smile for him and pull out his teeth one at a time. He can hardly wait but he must first get his prize possession. The one whose soul he wants the most, the one he wants to hear scream the most. It's time to go and pay Dr House a visit._


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary:** A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review!

**Authors note:** I hope everyone had a great New Year! Thanks for all the reads and reviews, I really appreciate them. I love reading them all :)

Rating for chapter is still M.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)

"Stop here," said House looking out of the window of the police car he was riding in.

"I'm best getting you straight home Dr House. Detective Bowman said that he's sending more of his people over to your house to keep an eye on the place. He wants you to have as much security as possible," replied Hamilton who was driving the car.

House had no intention of stopping here. He had intended to go straight home and drown his sorrows with his good old friend, Gin. But when he spotted the quaint little chapel which housed a huge weeping willow tree at the side of it, he'd told Hamilton to stop the car. He'd seen the chapel quite a few times on his way home and just looked at it the same way he would a liquor store or a bakers. It was nothing special to him, just the same as any other building. But tonight he wanted to go in there. Not to pray or to beg God to watch over his friends and keep them safe because he was not a religious man. He didn't believe in God, nor did he believe that if he went in there now, it would help the others. But religious or not, there was no denying that chapels and churches had an incredible feeling of peacefulness when you were inside of them, and that's all that House wanted right now, he wanted a little bit of peace from this situation that kept worsening like a terrible thunderstorm.

House stepped out of the car and hunched up his shoulders, trying to keep out some of the chilly night air. Hamilton was at his side only seconds later.

"Dr House I really need to get you home."

"I'll only be in here for ten minutes. Surely you can give me that?" exclaimed House, his breath coming out in white clouds of smoke. He limped up to the chapel's large wooden doors and found that the name of the chapel was St. Marys. He pushed open one of the doors and immediately felt the warm glow emitting from the many candles that were lit inside the building. He stepped inside, noticing that Hamilton was following him.

"I'd like to be alone if you don't mind. You can wait just outside the doors, I won't be long."

Hamilton gave House an unsure look.

"I'm not going to graffiti the walls or piss in the holy water, I promise," said House.

Hamilton gave a sigh, "Okay, but no longer than ten minutes." He stepped aside and radioed the men who were on the way to House's place, telling them that that he and House would be there soon.

House stepped inside the chapel closing the door behind him and shutting out the cold, frosty air. He looked around and saw that he was the only person in the building; nobody else vacated the benches that faced the small altar at the head of the chapel which could probably seat around thirty people. There were several small windows around the room that glowed a faint orange from the light cast by the streetlamps outside. Along with the main doors behind House that he had just come through, there was another small wooden door to the left of the altar at the back of the chapel. House guessed it probably led outside. There were a lot of lit candles around the room, radiating a warm heat and giving the room a soft golden glow.

House took a seat on one of the benches on the left side of the room. He sat two benches from the front, propping his cane up next to him. He leant forward, resting his elbows on the back of the bench in front of him and put his face in his hands. His hands were freezing and his stubble felt rough on his palms. He closed his eyes and saw Wilsons face, making him squeeze his eyes shut tighter. He knew that unless this bastard was caught, he would see nothing but Wilson and the others faces every time he closed his eyes for the rest of his life.

"I'm so sorry Jimmy," House found himself muttering into his hands. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you."

"Are you alright sir?" said a voice that made House almost jump out of his skin. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even hear anyone come in, let alone sit down next to him.

"It's just that you seemed like you were in some sort of distress, I thought you might have been crying. I was just seeing if you were okay," said the man who was sitting to the right of House. He was very soft spoken, his voice was almost calming. He had brown hair that was combed back with what House thought looked like a lot of gel. He wore silver, wire framed glasses and had hard, grey eyes. He wasn't good looking, his nose seemed too big and his lips too thin, but he certainly had a striking face.

"I'm fine," said House, looking at the man warily. He wasn't really partial to having in depth conversations with total strangers.

As if reading House's thoughts, the man said with a light-hearted tone, "Don't worry, I'm not just some stranger who has wandered in off the street. I work here. I help Father Joseph with the maintaining of the chapel seeing as he's getting a bit too old to do it all by himself. I was just taking out the garbage and came back to see if everything was okay. I may not be a priest but being around Father Joseph has taught me to lend an ear to a soul in distress."

"I'm fine, honestly," replied House.

"If you'd rather be alone to pray then I'll-"

"I wasn't praying. I'm an Atheist."

"Then why are you here?" asked the stranger with a puzzled look on his face.

"I just wanted some peace and quiet for a few minutes and... a few people who were close to me believed in God." House was horrified when he realised he was talking in the past tense. As if they were already dead.

"They were taken from you?"

House's eyes were troubled and his face was weary, "Something like that."

House looked at the man sitting next to him. His head was turned toward the front of the chapel in the direction of the altar and he was holding something small in his hands. House looked closer and noticed it was a toy soldier. House was confused for a moment and then looked at the man's face again. Then it clicked and his mind whirled back to before all of this happened, the _day_ before in fact. He replayed the event over in his head furiously and when he came to his conclusion, he lost all sense of time and went back to that fateful day in his mind.

He remembered being more miserable than usual because he had been in the clinic all day and they hadn't had a case for weeks. He'd seen countless patients that day, a baby with a chest infection, an old woman who couldn't stop hiccupping and... a man who'd swallowed a toy soldier. He even remembered the conversation he'd had with him; he could remember it as clear as day. He just didn't remember it earlier because it didn't seem significant, but it did now. He remembered the man saying, "I don't even know how I swallowed it. I'm really disappointed too because collecting model soldiers is a hobby of mine and I'd been looking for this one for a long time. I collect a lot of stuff."

_I collect a lot of stuff._ Maybe he was reaching here but House began to connect the dots and it seemed to fit. It was likely that whoever was taking his friends was keeping them alive seeing as the police hadn't found one single body. So, what kind of psychopath kidnaps people only to keep them alive and preserve them? And why take four people of the same profession? Yes, they were all House's friends but House didn't think that the bastard was doing it to get at House seeing as he had only met him for five minutes and House had managed not to upset or offend him in that space of time.

So this guy was a collector. House thought it was strange that a fully grown man could swallow a toy soldier. That was something he'd expect off a toddler. The son of a bitch had swallowed it on purpose, so he could come in and see House before his sick little game began.

House was jolted back to the present when he could feel the bastards gaze burning into him. Without even turning to face him, without taking his eyes off the altar, House whispered, barely audible, "Where are they?"

The collector smiled thinly, his eyes darkened and he simply said, "Would you like to find out?"

He held up a needle and House didn't even put up a fight. He knew the police wouldn't get anything out of him and there was no point in fighting because this guy was going to take House regardless. House was almost broken; his energy was so low seeing as he had hardly eaten anything the past few days and more than anything he just wanted to _know_. He wanted to know if they were okay. He was in no condition to fight and if he was really honest with himself, he didn't want to.

House felt the sharp prick of the needle bury itself in his neck. As the sedative kicked in he began to feel groggy and his vision began to blur. He wondered if Hamilton was going to come in as it had been almost ten minutes. He wondered if the collector was going to get caught in the act. He wondered if he would see the others again. He wondered if he would live through this.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary:** A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review!

**Authors note:** Sorry I'm taking so long to update this. I've been a bit busy lately, but I hope you will all bear with me and keep reading. I appreciate all the reads and reviews so much, it makes it all worthwhile.

Rating for chapter is M for swearing and violence.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)

_He's done it. He's finally got him. He has at last completed his collection. He stares at Dr House tied to a chair which is facing the four hospital beds that his friends are bound to. He wants Dr House to have a front row seat when he takes the souvenirs from each of his fellow doctors. He wants Dr House to hear them scream and witness the fear in his eyes when he realises that he will have the same done to him soon enough. He suspects that watching each of his friends get tortured and then ultimately murdered in turn will probably drive Dr House to insanity, but that will be the ultimate test, and if he can withstand that, then his soul will be stronger than ever._

_He studies Dr House. His hands are tied behind his back to the heavy metal chair that he now sits unconscious in. He smiled when he was tying Dr House's hands to the chair earlier and saw the wound he had inflicted on his hand when he paid him a little visit a couple of days ago. He thinks back to that moment when he drove the screwdriver into the doctor's hand. It was so beautiful to hear him try to suppress scream, so beautiful to see his face full of pain. Dr House's head is slumped forward and his breath is coming out slow and even. _

_He wonders what is going on in that slumbering mind, that brilliant, brilliant mind. He knows Dr House is already a troubled soul. He knows about the diagnostician's past and his inability to get close to very few people and how he guards that inability with sarcasm and deflective humour. He knows about his leg and the misery it causes him. He knows about everything and intends to strengthen his faltering soul by doing what needs to be done. Dr House should be thanking him at the end of all this, he's actually helping him in a way. He will die with a soul stronger than anybody and for that he should be thankful. _

_He wonders what it will take to make Dr House scream with pain. He knows that the doctor is good with handling pain, but the good doctor doesn't have his vicodin now does he? He feels a rush of excitement when he thinks about how much pain the doctor will already be in with his leg and how satisfying it will be to add to that pain._

_He also thinks about what souvenir he should take from Dr House. Should he take his damaged leg? His brilliant mind? He snaps out of these thoughts when Dr House starts to wake up from his deep slumber. He coughs and splutters a few times and then lifts his head up, his eyes scan the room and then come to rest on the man standing before him. As soon as Dr House looks at him he knows what he must take. His eyes. Those piercing blue, mesmerising, beautiful eyes..._

* * *

House awoke coughing and spluttering and trying to catch his breath. His head was pounding and he felt awfully groggy. At first he didn't know where he was but after his head had somewhat cleared and his breathing had returned to normal, the chapel, the Collector and the needle all came rushing back to him.

House felt strong, thick rope binding his hands behind him to the chair and his whole body was aching due to the awkward position he was restrained in. The heavy metal chair he was tied to didn't make the experience a whole lot more comfortable either. His injured hand and his leg were throbbing, his leg causing him the most pain of all. He knew that he wouldn't be getting any vicodin any time soon, the bastard would've seen to that he was sure.

House snapped his head up when he felt the presence of someone else in the room and when he heard muffled moans and the occasional sob. He looked around the room and felt genuine terror and revulsion when he saw Chase, Foreman, Cameron and Wilson strapped down in hospital beds opposite him, all with tape over their mouths.

House saw that Chase was unconscious and had a nasty deep gash across his forehead and numerous other wounds on his face. He suspected that Chase would have a scar on his forehead for probably the rest of his life, if he did in fact live through this, and House hoped with everything that he had that he would. That they all would.

House turned his attention to Foreman next and cringed when he saw his left ear, or what was left of it. His earlobe had been hacked off and dark red blood, which was almost black, had run down his neck and pooled over his collarbone and shoulder. House then looked at Foreman's legs and noticed that they looked bent out of shape through his trousers and painfully distorted. House knew that one or both of them had to be broken. He looked at Foreman's face and saw that he was slipping in and out of consciousness. He swallowed the lump that was forming at the back of his throat. He tried not to think too much. Don't let this bastard see the pain that this is causing you.

He then looked at Cameron and felt anger flare up inside him. She had blood running down the side of her face from a nasty wound on the side of her head. She also had a bloody nose and mouth and a swollen purple bruise under her right eye. It looked like the sadistic bastard had given her a beating. Cameron was awake and her face was soaked with tears. She looked at House pleadingly, begging him to help them but also so glad to see him.

House reluctantly tore his eyes away from Cameron's and his heart almost broke when his eyes came to rest on his best friend. Wilson was awake and breathing heavily through his nose, clearly in a lot of pain. He had cuts and bruises on his face, some weeping with blood. But what really made tears sting House's eyes and almost push him over the edge was the fact that the sick son of a bitch had nailed two ten inch iron nails through each palm of Wilson's hands. It must have only been recently too because they were still bleeding fresh blood and Wilson was clearly in a lot of pain. House balled his injured hand up into a fist and remembered how painful it was when the Collector had hammered the screwdriver through his hand. It made House sick to think that the same had been done to Wilson twice over. House couldn't stand it. He wanted to reach out to Wilson, tell him he was so sorry, tell him that it shouldn't have happened to him, but more than anything he wanted to kill the bastard who had done it to him. Who had hurt them all.

House at last turned his attention to the Collector with nothing but pure hatred burning in his eyes. He saw that he was wearing a white shirt and white pants with black boots, black gloves and a black apron. He looked like a butcher from hell itself. The Collector stared right back at House, studying him intensely. The air hung silent and thick between them, neither sure which man was going to speak first. It was the Collector who broke the silence.

"So now you know Dr House. Did you get what you were expecting?"

"You know what I got?" exclaimed House keeping his voice as even as possible. It took all the strength he had not to pull at his restraints and shout and scream at the bastard. "I got a sad, sick, lonely _freak_, whose only amusement in life is to torture and kill people. But ever since this whole thing began, I knew that's what you were, so yeah, I got what I was expecting."

The Collector let out a low chuckle. "Oh Dr House, it's going to be so much fun testing you. I think you're probably going to be my most memorable victim yet. But you can't judge what I do until you know _why_ I do it."

"Enlighten me then," said House in a flat tone, trying to buy some time.

Now he had seen the extent of what the Collector was capable of, he was sure that the end game was going to be death for them all. He had to try and find a way out of this. Seeing the condition that everybody was in had caused him greater pain than anything in his life. But the fact that they were _alive _had given him new hope and he wasn't going to give up now, he couldn't. He had let them all down the first time when they were taken by this bastard and he wasn't going to let them down a second time.

"Believe it or not, there is a purpose to me, as you call it "torturing" your friends. I'm testing their souls. By me testing them, it only makes them stronger. It makes their souls stronger for when I kill them and ultimately gaining a part of them."

"You're deluded and you know it. Look, you haven't killed anybody yet. You can just let us all go and run. The cops will never find you if you've been as careful as you have previously. I'm guessing you've been doing this for a while and if you haven't been caught now then you won't this time either. You know all this soul stuff is crap; you don't _need_ to kill us."

The Collector smiled and made his way over to House's chair. He leant forward and put his face close to House's, so close that House could feel his breath on his skin. House tried to move his head as far back as possible but the headrest on the chair made it hard for him to move anywhere. He wasn't sure how long it was before the Collector spoke, he had lost all sense of time since being here. The Collector spoke in a tone barely above a whisper.

"... Such beautiful eyes."

This made House squirm. It was bad enough with the bastard being this close to him but for him to be saying bizarre things like that made the whole experience a lot more uncomfortable.

"They will be my most prized possession when I take them from you."

House felt a stab of fear in his stomach. Take his eyes? House didn't know how to interpret that. The sick bastard could mean it literally or metaphorically, it was hard to tell what was going on in that sick mind.

"But first I'm going to have a little bit of fun with your friends. Let the game begin eh?"

House went pale. He couldn't let the Collector hurt the others again, he just couldn't. House was seized by panic and desperation.

"No! You can't hurt them again you bastard! Haven't they been through enough?"

"But Dr House, I must have my trophies. Now which shall I take first?" He pointed at Chase, "His hair?" At Foreman, "His hands?" At Cameron, "Her toes?" And finally at Wilson, "Or his teeth?"

House's breathing started to get heavier. He couldn't let panic take over him but he was finding it hard to get his fear under control. He needed to think of a way out of this but the pain in his leg which was now excruciating made it hard to think. His head wasn't clear enough for this!

The Collector began to walk over to a tray on wheels in the corner of the room. House's heart began thudding at an intense speed when he saw the instruments of torture on top and beneath it.

"Of course I'm going to leave your eyes until last Dr House. I don't want you to miss a second."

He stopped in front of House along with the tray. "So have you made a decision? Which one of your friends is going to get it first?"

House didn't respond. He was running out of time and fast. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

"Oh, you don't want to choose? Okay, I'll choose for you then."

House watched in horror as the Collector began to use a fucking counting rhyme to decide who to torture first. He was treating all of this as a damn game! House could do nothing but watch in despair, cursing himself for not being able to do a fucking thing. The Collector began his rhyme.

"Eeny, meeny, miney, moe

Catch a Doctor by the toe

If he screams let him go

Eeny, meeny, miney moe."

House's heart almost stopped when the Collectors finger landed to rest on Wilson. Wilson squeezed his eyes shut tight, trying to block out the horror of it all. House frantically looked to the Collector and then back at Wilson. This can't be happening! But House's heart began thudding again when the Collector carried on with his rhyme.

"Out goes one."

Cameron.

"Out goes two."

Wilson.

"Out goes another one.

Foreman.

"So I pick you!"

Shit. It's Chase. Chase had regained consciousness by now and started to pull violently at his restraints when he realised the Collectors intention. He was pulling so hard that House could see the veins in his neck. The Collector made his way over to Chase's bedside with his torture tools in tow. Chase was visibly trembling and when he saw the tool that the Collector produced form the tray, his trembling became violent.

House recognized the tool as one you would use for gripping and extracting small objects such as staples, pins and broken screws. They kind of looked like pliers but had long, serrated jaws that closed tight at the tips. The grip you could get with those was unbreakable and that made House's blood run cold.

The Collector ripped the tape off Chase's mouth and began to tighten the tool tips around a lock of Chase's hair.

"Please don't do this!" begged Chase. His voice was raspy and weak but full of fear.

But Chase's pleas fell on deaf ears and the Collector began to pull. Hard. Chase let out an anguished scream. This only seemed to excite the bastard further and he continued to pull.

House felt sick. He felt angry, disgusted, pained. He felt helpless!

"Stop!" House screamed. "You're going to rip his fucking skin off! _STOP_!" House pulled at his restraints wildly sending an intense bolt of pain through his leg. But he didn't care about the pain. He only cared about Chase.

Chase's screaming became more intense as his hair was being ripped from its roots, taking a layer of skin along with it. The Collector was smiling intensely, marvelling at Chase's pain. At last the hair came free and blood was seeping from the wound. Chase passed out from the pain and exhaustion. Wilson and Cameron had been watching the whole thing also, terrified that either one of them could be next. Foreman was now fully unconscious which, at the moment, was probably the best thing for him.

"There. Now that wasn't so hard was it?" said the Collector who was now breathless and gleeful. He placed the lock of hair into a small transparent bag, smiling as he did so.

"Look, no more okay? You still have a chance here. You can still run and nobody will ever find you. Just stop this, please."

It disgusted House to beg this freak but there was nothing else he could do.

"Now where is the fun in that Dr House?" the Collector said with a smile.

House's heart dropped when he began his sick counting game again.

"Out goes one."

Chase.

"Out goes two."

Foreman.

"Out goes another one."

Cameron.

"So I pick you!"

Wilson. House's blood ran cold and he let out a choked cry. No! Wilson was already in enough pain. Wilson scrunched his eyes up tight, awaiting the inevitable. The Collector made his way over to Wilson's bed with his torture tray by his side.

"Just fucking stop!" cried House in desperation. "Take _my_ teeth, take whatever you want! Just leave him alone, leave them all alone you fucking bastard!" House was desperate now and panicked. He couldn't bear to watch Wilson get his teeth pulled out, he just couldn't.

The Collector only gave House an affectionate smile and ripped the tape off Wilson's mouth. He reached for the pliers on his tray.

"House, don't watch this! Close your eyes, look away!" demanded Wilson.

But House couldn't look away. He couldn't tear his eyes away from his friend's eyes.

"Look at my eyes Wilson! Look at me and nothing else, I'm here!"shouted House, his voice so full of pain and his eyes misty with tears.

He watched, horrified, as the Collector opened Wilson's mouth and clamped the pliers around his canine tooth. Wilson kept his eyes on House and House didn't dare look away. This was the only way House could be there for him. It wasn't going to make it any easier but it was the only thing he could do. Wilson's eyes were full of terror and determination not to scream. He was bracing himself for the pain but also to rob the bastard of his satisfaction of hearing his pain.

The Collector pulled in one hard and violent motion and the tooth was ripped out in one excruciating pull. Wilson squeezed his eyes shut tight, the pain evident in his face. He closed his mouth as soon as the tooth was out and through gritted teeth he let out an agonized suppressed scream. He was breathing heavily and opened his mouth letting a pool of blood spill out. He let out groans of pain but didn't scream.

House's breath was caught in his throat and he had broken out in a cold sweat. If they lived through this he honestly didn't think he or any of them would ever have a sleep without nightmares again.

"Oh, we've got a strong one here haven't we? He didn't scream. Looks like I'm going to have to remove another one. I think I'll go and get the drill."

Wilson closed his eyes and House fought down the urge to vomit. The Collector began making his way up a set of stairs that led to a door at the top. House watched him go as the Collector said, "I'll be back in a minute. Don't you go anywhere now."

The Collector closed the door behind him leaving the five doctors alone. The only sound that could be heard was their heavy breathing and the drip, drip, drip of their blood on the white washed floor.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary:** A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review!

**Authors note:** I'm sorry I've taken so long with this chapter. Exams, exams, exams. But I've finally broken up for the summer now so hope I can get this baby finished. Again, thanks for all the reads and reviews, really appreciate it.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House or any of its characters (wishes she owned Dr House)

Back at the hospital, Cuddy was going out of her mind with worry. She received a call about forty minutes ago at her home from Detective Bowman who informed her of the grim news that not long after Wilson had been taken, House was the next to go.

She was now sitting in her office frustrated by the fact that there was nothing for her to do but wait. She stood up and paced the length of her office for a while. She then sat down. Then she paced again. She tried to do some paperwork but couldn't concentrate. She picked up the phone contemplating calling Bowman and asking if they'd found anything at the chapel yet but he told her that if they found anything he would call her right away, so she put the phone back in its receiver.

She couldn't believe the scale of horror one person could create in just a few days. House and all of his team were gone, nobody certain whether they were dead or alive. She refused to give up hope though and she refused to succumb to tears. If she cried for them all, she might as well tell herself that they were all dead and she didn't want to believe that. She would keep on hoping and praying that they were alive and would not shed one tear unless she was presented with bodies.

Cuddy looked at the phone on her desk wishing Bowman would call. Then, as if by sheer strength of will, it did in fact begin to ring. She picked up the receiver before it even got to the second ring.

"Hello, Dr Cuddy's speaking."

"Hello Dr Cuddy, it's Detective Bowman here. I think we may have just caught a lucky break."

Cuddy's heart leapt. Please let something come of this lead, please.

Bowman continued to inform her. "I've got forensics over here doing a sweep of the chapel and we found the syringe the guy must have used to drug House. We didn't think anything would come of it because he'd always left clean ones at the previous scenes but this one has got a partial finger print on the plunger. He must have wiped it clean but missed a bit. He probably left it for us to find so we would _know _that it was him who took House, but he slipped up this time by not cleaning it fully."

"So will you have an ID on this guy soon?" Cuddy asked hopefully.

"We're going to run the print through our database now. If the guy has been prosecuted for a previous conviction and has a file, we'll find him."

"How long will that take you?"

"It depends. There are a lot of people on file. We might get lucky and make a match quickly or we may have to wait a while. We're still checking all other avenues in case this one doesn't work out. I'll call you if anything comes up."

"Thank-you Detective." Cuddy hung up and placed her head in her hands. She hoped to God that the guy would be on file and if he was, it wouldn't take too long to make a match. If House and the others were still alive, she hoped they could hang on long enough to be saved.

XXX

_The Collector hums happily to himself as he rummages through his toolbox in his kitchen to find the drill. He is eager to get back to work on Casanova and that winning smile of his. He's having so much fun with his collection and will be sad when it's over, but in the long run, the reward will be much greater than the loss. _

_He knows he saw the drill somewhere but it's not in his toolbox. Maybe he left it in the garage. He stands up and starts to walk across the kitchen when he is stilled by a knock on the door. He's not expecting anybody but he doesn't worry at all. Instead, he calmly takes off his apron, gloves and boots and puts them out of sight in one of the kitchen cabinets. He then pulls on a tatty old sweater that is resting on one of the kitchen stools to cover up the few splatters of blood on the sleeves of his white shirt._

_He walks out of the kitchen and down the hall to his front door, taking his time, never rushing. He opens the front door and is not frightened but merely curious when he sees two uniformed policemen staring back at him._

* * *

House knew this would be his only chance to do something. He wanted to say something to the others but he knew that he couldn't waste even a second of this opportunity. He had no idea how long the freak would be up there but he guessed it wouldn't be for very long and this made the sickly feeling of fear churn in his stomach, spurring him into action.

He knew there was no way he could struggle out of the rope that bound his hands so he needed something to cut it with. He looked at the tray beside Wilson's bed and his eyes came to rest on the scalpel on top of it. He needed to get that scalpel.

The Collector hadn't tied his legs to the chair, probably because he knew that only one of them was in working order and just one leg wouldn't be much help to him. But when a person has fear, panic and a desire to live within him, he's willing to do anything. For the first time in his life, House wanted to live.

He tried to move his bad leg and let out a sharp hiss when stab of pain travelled up his leg and through his body. Ignoring the pain as best he could, he let his bad leg go limp and with his other good leg, he began to drag himself, along with the chair across the room.

* * *

_The Collector gives the officers his most pleasant smile and says, "Hello Officers, what brings you here?"_

_One of the officers, a fresh faced blonde man speaks first. "You are Alfred O'Brien is that correct?"_

"_Yes, that's correct." It was an alias of course, he had many false identities. "Am I under arrest or something?"_

"_No, no. Nothing like that Mr O'Brien. We're just patrolling the area and questioning residents about a burglary that occurred at the Greene residence down the street a few days ago."_

"_Oh yes I heard about that. Terrible thing to happen to that couple, such lovely people."_

_So he hasn't been found out after all, it's just an innocent inquiry about a burglary. He knew it wasn't possible as he's always so careful when carrying out his work. He's very irritated by this sudden interruption though. He wants to get back downstairs to continue his fun and even though the two policemen are here on an entirely unrelated matter, nevertheless, it's still dangerous to have two cops standing on your doorstep._

"_They are very nice people," the cop continued. "Had a lot stolen from them too. We'd just like to ask you a few questions if that's okay?"_

_The Collector wants to get rid of these two parasites as quickly as possible. He smiles, "Of course."_

* * *

House let out a grunt of pain and effort as the chair moved an inch forward. The chair was heavier than it looked which didn't help in getting to the tray. He stretched his good leg forward once again and pulled himself a couple of inches closer. He did it again, this time rocking his body forward to gain more distance.

Every muscle in his body burned. His leg was throbbing. His hand had begun to bleed again. Sweat dripped into his eyes, making them sting. He was breathing heavily, but he was getting closer, closer to his goal. The others were watching him intently, silently willing him on.

House pulled himself forward again, the chair making loud scraping noises on the floor and leaving a black trail mark on the white floor. He wasn't worried about the Collector hearing him; he guessed the room was soundproof due to the fact that there wasn't an echo in there. He knew he _had _to get the scalpel now. If the Collector came back before he got it and saw that House had attempted to move... he didn't want to think about the consequences.

House was almost there now. He thought he was going to black out from the pain but he kept his eyes on the tray through his blurred vision. He realised that he had tears streaming from his eyes from the sheer effort it took to move himself and the chair.

When he finally reached the tray, he had a quick five second rest and shimmed the chair around so his left side was facing the tray. The hard part wasn't over yet.

* * *

_The Collector is getting tired of the tedious questions the officers are asking him but he answers them politely and swiftly. He doesn't want to seem irritated, he just acts like any other law abiding citizen who is only too happy to help with their inquiry._

"_And just one last question Mr O'Brien, did you see any unusual cars parked in the street that night?"_

_The Collector makes a show of thinking about it for a second; he makes it look as if he really cares about apprehending this awful burglar._

"_I'm sorry but I really don't think I did. Everything seemed to be in place, nothing out of the ordinary really. It was just like any other night."_

"_Okay, well thanks very much for your help and give us a call if you remember anything that you think might be useful."_

"_I sure will Officer and I hope you catch whoever it was soon. Give the Greene's my regards."_

_He watches the two officers get back into their patrol vehicle and gives them a little wave before he shuts the door. Now he's more eager than ever to get back to his game downstairs, cursing the scum who's just interrupted him. _

_He puts his apron, boots and gloves back on and heads to his garage to find the drill._

* * *

Now House had his left side facing the tray, he knew this would take all of his strength and cause him a great deal of pain but he didn't think about it. He took a deep breath and with a cry of anguish he distributed most of his weight, but not all, on to his good leg and stood up with the chair on his back like a turtle shell, the legs sticking out at the back.

He was shaking and his legs were bent, his bad leg was painfully protesting against the weight but he had to lean on both legs or else he'd risk losing his balance and if he fell, he wouldn't be able to get back up again and it would be over. Now that he was half standing, the top of the tray was level with his waist, level with his tied hands. He stood alongside it as close as he could get and taking care not to knock the tray with the chair legs, grasped for the scalpel with his fingers. He brushed the metal object but didn't manage to pick it up.

His whole body was shaking now. He couldn't stay up for much longer. His strength was quickly being drained from him. In one last attempt to get the scalpel, he stretched his fingers and caught it between his forefinger and middle finger. He grasped it tightly in his left hand as if it were his life, taking extreme care not to drop it.

He sat back down again in the chair, letting out an almighty breath as he did so. He knew he had no time to rest though and began to frantically cut at the thick ropes.

* * *

_The Collector smiles as he finds the drill on his work surface in the garage. He unplugs it from the power socket and carries it back to the basement with him. _

_He twists the knob on the door and starts to descend the steps. Even before he's two steps down he knows something is wrong._

* * *

House's heart almost stopped when he heard the door at the top of the steps being opened. He hadn't cut all the way through the ropes yet, he needed more time!

"House," Wilson said in an urgent, frightened whimper.

House began to cut frantically through the ropes, his hands and wrists burning. He was almost there but didn't know if he'd make it by the time the Collector got to him. He could hear the Collector coming down the stairs at a much faster pace now.

* * *

_The Collector descends the steps briskly. He sees that somehow House has managed to drag himself all the way over to Wilson's bed and is now looking at him with pure panic and desperation in his eyes. _

_The Collector is impressed with House's strength of will, so strong. But this defiance cannot go unpunished. He walks over to House with a look of disappointment on his face and tuts at him as if scolding a naughty child._

"_House you disappoint me. Come on; let's get you back to where you were."_

_The Collector barely has time to react as House stands up to face him and in one swift motion, the light reflecting off the scalpels shiny surface, slashes his throat._

* * *

House watched as a jet of blood spurted from the Collectors neck and sprayed on to his face. He heard the scalpel hit the floor with a clang as he let it slip through his fingers. He slumped back in the chair, all of his energy gone.

The Collector had a look of pure shock on his face as he desperately tried to hold some of the blood in with his hands but it was no good. House made sure he had hit all of the major arteries. He stumbled backwards until his back came into contact with the wall and he slid down it on to the floor, with his hands still round his throat.

House looked at the Collector, the man who had caused them so much anguish, the man who had hurt them all, and for the first time, he saw fear in those cold, grey eyes. He saw a realisation that he was going to die. Blood stained his shirt and apron, his face was drained of all colour, he was taking his last breaths.

* * *

_It's funny... he feels scared. For the first time in his life, he is scared. He looks at the man who has caused his death, he looks at House. If it's anyone, he's glad it's him. _

_He's finding it hard to breathe now. He lets his hands fall from his throat and come to rest on the floor. Darkness creeps into the sides of his vision and he carries on looking at House. The darkness has completely overcome him now, and the last things he sees before he dies, the things that even the darkness cannot overcome are House's eyes, those deep blue, piercing eyes._

* * *

House watched as the Collector took his last breath and closed his eyes. His body slumped sideways, no life left in him.

House was struggling to stay conscious now. He heard the basement door burst open and managed to stay awake long enough to see Detective Bowman and a whole lot of other officers coming down the stairs with guns in tow.

House let his head fall back against the headrest of the chair and thought with an ironic smile before blacking out, "_Now_ you guys show up."


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary:** A deadly and sadistic killer is on the loose and he's collecting Doctors. He has his deadly sights set on House, Wilson, Cameron, Foreman and Chase; he wants to add them all to his collection. Please read and review!

**Authors note:** Wow, I haven't updated this in forever! Really sorry about that, life and everything. This is the last chapter in this story, it's been great writing it. Thanks so much for all the people who have taken the time to read and review, it makes it all worthwhile =]

**Disclaimer:** I don't own House or any of its characters, I wish I did but we can't all have everything can we?

A loud tap-tap-tapping on his apartment door awoke House from his slumber. He had been watching TV when he had fallen asleep but was glad for the wakeup call. Since the horror two months ago, he didn't like to sleep and tried to stay awake for as long as possible. Every time he closed his eyes and drifted off, instead of finding himself in dream land, he would be in a continuous loop of blood and torture. He would see the Collector's face clear and vivid in his mind and would hear him saying, "Such beautiful eyes" over and over again like whispers on the wind.

It was due to his borderline Insomnia, amongst other things, that House wasn't ready to go back to work. He longed to solve cases again and to keep his mind occupied but even if he wanted to go back to the hospital, he would be sent home again. His fear of sleep which he couldn't see coming to an end any time soon, would prevent him from working at full capacity. The cuts from the experience where still deep and raw for him and for everyone. But he was trying to heal, God was he trying.

House reached for his cane and limped to the door. He opened it to find Wilson standing on the other side. Wilson smiled in greeting and House noticed Wilson's false tooth he'd had fitted a month ago. To any other person it would look like an ordinary tooth, but House couldn't help looking at it every time Wilson smiled. It was a constant reminder of what happened, there were reminders in many forms on everyone who had the bad luck to be involved in the ordeal.

"You ready to go?" Wilson asked.

"Yeah, I'm ready." House shut the door behind him and they both made their way outside to Wilson's car and got inside. Wilson started up the engine and pulled away from the curb. House looked through the side window that was full of condensation due to the cold weather outside. He looked at his apartment until they rounded the corner and it disappeared from view.

"How's Foreman?" he asked Wilson who had been to see Foreman before he stopped at House's place. He went to see how Foreman was doing at least once a week. House had been a couple of times, but not as much as Wilson. He wasn't as good as Wilson in those situations; he never knew what to say.

"He's doing better. He told me that the doctors think he'll be out of the wheelchair in a few of months and then he'll be able to walk around on crutches until his legs are fully healed. As long as he keeps up with his rehab, he should be okay. I think he's just frustrated that he can't go back to work."

House thought that out of all of them, Foreman had got the worst end of the deal physically and he felt a pang of guilt every time he thought about it. That was the main reason he couldn't go and see Foreman as often as he'd like. Every time he saw him in that wheelchair he couldn't stop the little voice in the back of his mind saying, "All because he was close to you." He knew that the Collector, or Gary Patterson as he was later revealed to be named, was solely responsible for this mess but he couldn't help thinking it. Patterson was still causing damage even after his death.

Physically, Cameron and Chase were doing better than Foreman but they had both been to counselling a couple of times in the past two months. Cameron's cuts and bruises had healed up and her face left no evidence of what had happened. Chase however had a three inch scar on his forehead so he would be reminded of the past every time he looked in the mirror. But he didn't need to look at the scar to be reminded. House knew that the past would never be erased for any of them, no matter how hard they tried to forget. For some of them the scars would heal and for some of them the wounds would still hurt. Only time would tell.

House looked at the passing streetlights and saw a fine stream of silver crystals falling to the ground. It had started to rain.

"You see the news today?" asked Wilson, interrupting House's thoughts.

"Yeah. They're _still_ talking about it. I wish they'd just let it die."

"I know. If they keep uncovering bodies like this though, I don't think they'll stop talking about Patterson for a long time. He'll probably go down in history along with Ted Bundy, the BTK Killer and all the other serial killers."

After finding the partial fingerprint on the syringe left at the chapel, the police had been able to find out Patterson's real name and ultimately his residence. He had a previous conviction sixteen years ago for assault on a woman he took home after meeting her in a bar. He had changed his name over the years and switched his identity, he was very careful. Not careful enough though. He had registered his home under his real name when he moved in twenty years ago, seven years before he went on his killing spree and killed his first victim. During those seven years, he had modified his basement, making it soundproof and turning into his perfect torture chamber.

He had changed his name to Alfred O'Brienafter killing his first victim. Nobody in his quiet neighbourhood had batted an eyelid at his name change because nobody knew he'd changed it. He never spoke to any of his neighbours and kept himself to himself and lied when he told the police officers that questioned him about the burglary at the Greene residence that they were "lovely people." The Greene's later said that they had never spoken to him since they moved into the neighbourhood three years ago. They were quoted saying on one of the news stations, "It's a huge shock, we hardly ever saw the man. He was like a phantom, only appearing every now and then."

He was always switching and in-between jobs; he was a master a deception. Since the incident two months ago, the police had found twelve bodies buried in his backyard, all with organs or body parts missing. Detective Bowman who was determined to finish the case, even if it killed him, had told House grimly that they expected to find more bodies.

"Cuddy said that she wished you'd call more often. She's worried about you House," exclaimed Wilson, stopping at a red light.

House snorted, "More like she's longing for the eye candy to get back to the hospital. You and I both know that she's had the hotts for me ever since I asked her if she'd had a boob job because a woman of her age couldn't have breasts _that_ pert naturally."

Wilson laughed and so did House. It felt good to be able to laugh after all that had happened. It was progress, even if it was only small.

House looked out of the window at the rain again. Small tears of blue and silver trickled down his window, intertwining and merging into one another to become bigger tears. Tears. Tears that he hadn't shed since the night Wilson was took by Patterson.

"I'm sorry," House muttered, barely above a whisper.

"Hm?" said Wilson, looking at House and then back at the road.

"I'm sorry Wilson. I never had a chance to say it since the night you were taken, so I'm saying it now."

Wilson looked at House fully now as they reached their destination and parked the car.

"Don't you ever say that again House. You have nothing to be sorry for. None of this was your fault and you need to stop blaming yourself because none of us do. You should know firsthand how strong some people can be. We'll all get over this, maybe never fully, but in time we'll heal... and so will you."

There were truth to Wilson's words and House felt a little better that someone else had said out loud what he'd been trying to convince himself of over the past two months.

House gave Wilson a grateful smile and checked his watch, "You going to help a cripple with his things then?"

Wilson smiled and they both got out of the car and made their way to the trunk. Wilson opened the lid and hauled out a suitcase with visible effort.

"Jesus! What have you got in here?" he panted, placing it on the floor and pulling out the handle so he could drag it on its wheels.

"The whole female cast of Baywatch. You'd think it wouldn't be as heavy seeing as they're all so thin. Must be the breast implants."

House and Wilson stood there in the rain, looking at the airport. The sound of aeroplanes taking off and landing were muffled by the sound of the heavy rain fall.

House took the suitcase from Wilson and turned to face him. There was an awkward silence.

"There's no chance of you reaching the airport doors and me shouting after you, making you stay and right on cue the cheesy music starts playing and we all live happily ever after is there?" Wilson half joked. He knew it was pointless. House needed to leave, he needed time. And Wilson knew he had to let him.

"Well your straight man image just flew right out of the window there didn't it Jimmy?" said House with a smirk.

"When will you be back?"

House looked thoughtful, "I... don't know Wilson. When I can look at the others without feeling guilty. When I can dream without seeing his face."

Wilson understood all too well. "Well Cuddy said that your job will be waiting for you when you get back. She's put her neck on the line for you; make sure you repay her by coming back one day and being an ass to her like always."

Wilson smiled but House could see the sheen of tears in his eyes even through the rain. House blinked back his own. He didn't think it would be this hard.

"I will," said House, his eyes blue eyes solemn and truthful. "I will."

He put his hand on Wilson's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He didn't need to say anything more; everything that needed to be said had been said.

He took hold of his suitcase and made his way to the airport entrance and through the doors out of the rain. He didn't allow himself to look back.

He checked in and made his way to his flight just as it was boarding. He got as comfortable as he could and within twenty minutes the plane was in the air, leaving New Jersey behind. He looked out of the window and down at the city, each yellow light like a candle in the dark.

House knew he was doing the right thing, even if it was really hard. He had left his apartment, motorcycle and everything else that he couldn't bring with him in the care of Wilson. He had enough money in his savings to live comfortably for quite a while. He wasn't going to stay away forever, he knew that for certain. Maybe he'd stay away for a couple of months, a year... maybe longer. But he would be back, he'd go home eventually. He couldn't leave his job forever, it was in his blood. And he couldn't leave Wilson either.

He hoped that the pain of the experience would fade for them all. He hoped that the wounds would heal. And as the lights of New Jersey gradually faded as they climbed higher into the clouds, he noticed that one light burned bright longer than the others through the rain. House smiled. Maybe he would be able to sleep without nightmares, one day.

Fin.


End file.
